


drifting

by fuzzyfalcons18



Category: Portrait de la jeune fille en feu | Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:49:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27579398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzzyfalcons18/pseuds/fuzzyfalcons18
Summary: Sophie and Heloise cope.
Kudos: 11





	drifting

The sky is a splatter of vibrant oranges and blues when Heloise runs away from home.

Sophie is suspicious the moment she hears a sound akin to a dying elephant screeching, before realizing that no, the chateau hasn’t turned into a fantastical zoo from one of  _ her  _ novels that  _ she  _ would lend Sophie whenever the madam wasn’t around, smiling, her dark blue eyes laughing, (ones that would make Sophie feel smaller than she actually is, but oh so utterly in awe). A conspirator of her own. 

No. It is instead Heloise, dragging a leather trunk that looks like it could have belonged to her great-great grandmother, down the stairs, the wheels scraping harshly against the wood, hence the unearthly noises. Heloise herself is all mussed up as well, her hair falling in unruly waves around her shoulders.

‘’Oh.’’ she breathes, her stormy eyes nonplussed when she meets Sophie’s, who is seemingly stuck to the floor, as she holds _her_ favorite tea pot from Milan, (or was it from that fat merchant in Florence?) ‘’Sophie, isn’t it?’’ A tiny nod. But Heloise is already looking at something else. Her mother’s old shawl hangs in the old foyer.

‘’Tell my mother I have something to attend to, at…’’ A note of hesitation, reproach. ‘’...the infirmary.’’ 

Okay. The infirmary. That’s nothing unusual about that. In fact, Sophie’s been told many tales about Heloise bringing back injured animals to the chateau, nursing them back to health. It was a song thrush the summer eight years ago, and a young bobcat mistaken for a mere kitten the winter after that. Perhaps nursing is one of Heloise’s few passions (the others being sulking and fighting with the madam).

‘’Yes.’’ says Sophie, rather dumbly.

Heloise leaves shortly after that, one long arm dragging the infamous trunk behind her and the other restraining a bundle of clothes that threaten to spill into a pool of black and blue.

She doesn’t even spare Sophie a look, or acknowledge her presence any further than that. That’s alright, Sophie doesn’t care. Heloise is just like the madam.

Sophie hates the madam.

The day passes in a haze of autumnal gold and red, and when the sun threatens to sink into the dark sea, and Heloise is not home.

Sophie is ladling out bouillon into little brightly colored ceramics, when it strikes her that Heloise might be dead.

No,  _ her  _ and Heloise are two different people,  _ she _ is warm and human and Heloise is cold and might as well be a statue. Heloise screams at her mother behind closed doors and the other pleads with the madam in plain sight. Sophie’s mind whirlwinds. How many people walk along the coast anyway? If Heloise is dead, Sophie should have already been made aware.

What about the godforsaken trunk, and the clothes, Sophie thinks. She must be running away. 

If the madam finds out, Sophie will be disposed of without a second thought, and then she will be on the streets (or at least a country road, the way this island is managed), for something that is no way conceived of her shortcomings but of the madam’s. And there will be nowhere to go but the grave.

Sophie shall find her.

A trip then. To the fishmonger’s, then to the baker’s. Go north and take a right at the first fork to the medicine woman's little hollow. Straight down from there is the infirmary.

Heloise is nowhere to be found.

Sophie returns to the chateau, scared and tired and utterly exhausted from her fruitless journey. A light drizzle has started to take form, and it overflows into a thunderstorm, close to midnight. The madam will return tomorrow and Sophie will be no more than a beggar.

With that final thought, Sophie clambers into bed.

She’s just started to doze off, when she hears the front door wrench open, and the sound of footsteps approaching. Sophie instinctually grabs the candlestick holder, adrenaline rushing through her veins. She’s too young to die.

Be rational, her mind tells her. If it’s a thief, he may have a weapon, and Sophie will not fulfill her dream of living through the night, candlestick holder or no candlestick holder. Perhaps she should just pull the covers as high as she can and pray for the best. What if it isn’t a thief at all, but the madam returned early, and therefore accelerating Sophie’s financial demise? What if…

The footsteps have reached the outside of the door to Sophie’s room. The doorknob turns.

Heloise is standing in front of Sophie, drenched, her eyes glimmering.

‘’Do we have any bouillon left?’’ Her voice is broken, and she is on the verge of tears.

‘’You ran away.’’ 

Sophie’s tone is accusing. A heavy silence hangs. Heloise stiffens.

‘’ I tried, yes.’’

Was she stupid? Sophie wants to strangle her. She had suffered a lifetime of fear in one day, and for what?

Heloise laughs,  _ actually  _ laughs, yet it is paradoxically filled with sadness.

‘’You’re lucky I can’t swim.’’

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> yes, i know that this story has grammar issues, and no this is not sophie x heloise's sister


End file.
